3 O'clock in the Morning
by airwolf addict
Summary: Story Twenty Two. An obsession of threes could be the downfall of a mysterious art thief who always seems to be evading the cops. But who is the thief really? No one has been able to give any positive id's yet, and it might just stay that way...
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

It was a warm clear afternoon, people chatting outside downtown Zurich buildings, totally unaware of the events about to occur. The wind blew softly, rustling the leaves of the ivy growing up the brick walls of a particular brick building that a dark clothed figure casually walked towards. No one took much notice of him, and why should they have? After all, it was just another tourist coming to see the magnificent paintings housed inside the E.G. Buhrle Collection.

Three o'clock in the afternoon, on what seemed to be a perfect afternoon, the dark clothed person ran out of the building and disappeared around a corner. No one would have taken any specific notice to him, except for the fact that he left with a Monet that obviously wasn't his.

"Stop that man!" one bystander yelled even as two others pounded after him.

Both careened around the corner expecting to see the art thief, but only saw the typical Swiss residents going on with their daily lives like nothing had ever happened, only they were now a priceless painting short and there wasn't a single clue as to where it or the bold young thief had disappeared to.

\A/

Three months later…

Archangel sat at his desk, looking at the picture of the missing artwork that had only recently been recovered and taken residence again at the art museum in Zurich.

The painting, "Poppies near Ventheuil," had been completely unharmed, but even after thorough examination didn't bring any clues about its theft of who the mysterious thief was. Three months and still nothing.

Michael sighed and closed the file, pushing it aside. That one wasn't his problem; surely there was something that desperately needed his attention, there always was, but that one wasn't it.

Figuring out what to do about Airwolf should be one of his priorities, finding someone to replace Hawke. He shook his head in disbelief again. No one could replace Stringfellow Hawke. He and Airwolf made an almost indestructible and dynamic team. Logically, Saint John and Mike Rivers could take care of most of it, and even Dominic didn't seem quite ready to fully retire from the missions either, but neither were they Stringfellow Hawke either. It wasn't even just the flying, all three other men were more than competent pilots. The only problem was - they weren't Hawke, and without him...well. Airwolf wouldn't be quite the weapon she'd always been.

Hawke had made it very clear he was done though; he wasn't going to risk having his family hurt physically or getting himself hurt or killed on a mission. A normal life, he'd said. They were going to live a normal life and Airwolf was most definitely not part of that kind of life.

It was a shame; he didn't begrudge Hawke his family and some semblance of a normal life, but he wondered could you ever really and truly get out of this kind of business? No doubt, it would be safer most of the time, but somewhere someone might try to take advantage of his knowledge and now his lack of connections and resources to get a hold of Airwolf in a more roundabout way. Nobody else had the strong link that Hawke and Airwolf shared either - something he'd always seemed to want and always had.

In the beginning of the Airwolf project there had been something about that somber, quiet, Vietnam veteran that had given him the determination and ability to beat out all his competition to fly her. Ultimately, Hawke had left anyway due to some major disagreement with Moffet, but Archangel could still remember the regret in his eyes that morning when he had officially resigned from the project; and even then it hadn't been the end. It was two more years before they even saw each other again, but Stringfellow Hawke had still been dragged in again. This time it was his undying persistence that his MIA brother was alive and that he would bring him back to the states and the Firm's desperation to retrieve one deadly, and out of control mach one helicopter.

Now things were different; his determination was to protect his family, no matter what it cost him personally, but just what were the conditions of that? the spy wondered, wearily rubbing the bridge of his nose. What would it ultimately cost them all?

\A/

Michael tried to return to the tasks at hand. Mike and Saint John had returned early yesterday afternoon from a simple routine maintenance flight; other than that to his knowledge the Lady hadn't logged any airtime in the last two months since the younger Hawke brother had quit. It was his life and his choice, but Michael couldn't help but wonder how much safer they would really be now that the whole family was involved or had been involved at some point.

"Stop worrying about it," he told himself. When Hawke made up his mind there wasn't much anyone could do to change it, and there wasn't really much point in even bothering to try. If he was ever to return to the Airwolf program he would return under his own terms and on his own timetable - that was just part of working with him and only time would only time would tell for sure of he would ever end up doing anymore Airwolf related mission, but right now he seemed pretty adamant about his intentions.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

**Williamstown, Massachusetts**

**2:58am**

Dimly lit corridors were guarded constantly, always had been, but especially so after the art theft in Switzerland, but that was three months ago and in Europe. Things were totally different there, and the security was much tighter here. These paintings belonged here and they planned to have it stay that way.

Silent footsteps padded down the tiled hallways mere feet behind the security guard but still undetected thus far.

The guard paused, slowly turned around, dark grey eyes searching the surroundings intently for a long breathless moment, then shrugged, turning around again and continuing his patrol.

Letting out a relieved, but silent breath, soft soled dark shoes stepped down the hallway once again.

Black formfitting bodysuit and an equally dark colored shoulder strap canister clung to the stealthy shadow. The only thing not dark were those crystal blue eyes that stood out in contrast, carefully counting off the guards steps, comparing them to the limber stride belonging to the dark figure's own.

Time seemed to almost stop, even seconds dragging on for eternities.

Again sapphire blue eyes looked around, but this time they lingered on the skylight above the paintings. A full moon tonight -not ideal - but it had to be tonight - March third.

Oh, the madness this obsession of threes caused. The third day of the third month three months after the previous art theft - any other previous day this week would have been better, but it had to be tonight, at three am of course.

\A/

**3:00am**

Severing the glass and reaching in with a slender, black gloved hand, the thief removed the painting from its frame with deft smoothness, speed, and carefulness. This was not the preferred way of doing things, but one must work with what the circumstances allowed and this looked to be about the only way to slip out easily.

Rolling the painting cautiously to avoid as much damage as possible, and slipping it back into a black canister.

Noiseless footsteps hurried across the tiled floor and disappeared into the shadows.

One on duty guard signaled for another to join him, sensing the possibility of an intruder. Scrambling over to join him, the older guard skidded to a halt, took two steps back, and stared, aghast at the place where a Cezanne painting once hung and still should be.

"It's gone!" he cursed. Spread out; we have to find this guy!" the first ordered.

"Sound the alarm!"

The team of security officers scoured the building, quickly covering every foot of it and leaving the thief no where to hide.

"Crazy madness," the black clad figure mumbled almost aloud. The intention had been of course, to steal more than one painting. If one was going to all the trouble of breaking in, why not make the most of it? Three, of course, was going to be the magic number, but there hadn't been any plans for getting found out this early. Nevertheless, three it had to be; just the two already acquired wasn't good enough - not because of the cost or the beauty, but simply because it wasn't three. Now the last piece of priceless art was securely in possession, the only task was getting out of here alive, with the art, and without leaving any clues about who the real thief was because it sure wasn't who the police suspected of being the actual criminal.

Breathless, but forced to maintain slow even breaths and to remain quiet for the sake of not getting caught. Security was too quickly covering the area, and now was as good a time as ever to make a run for it.

"There!" one yelled, sending what seemed like a whole platoon of guards after the escaping thief, but a moment later the intruder was gone. They spread out again. They would find this criminal; it was their job for starters, but also because they liked to call themselves the best of the group and not a one of them wanted to be proven wrong.

In the bushes and undercover of night, there was only a little farther to go, up over the wall and to freedom from this museum turned prison. Army-crawling across the dew-covered ground with practiced ease, the fugitive finally reached the fence and jumped it, but not before the guards took notice.

Taking off after the art thief and gaining ground, they scrambled over the fence with police sirens blaring in the distance and quickly getting closer. The night's silence was ruined by what was supposed to be a quick and relatively easy theft, which now had turned into a disruptive morning chase through the museum and looked like it wouldn't stop there, judging by the approaching cop cars.

"Give it up," one commanded above the noise of the alarms and sirens, but the thief had disappeared from sight once again.

Now flashlights and search lights poured light over the area, just in time to see the thief fly off into the night in a black helicopter.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Saint John Hawke looked across the living room of his apartment and smiled. Le and Chance had both fallen asleep some time during the last movie - and it was at least the fourth or fifth. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that letting them have all those cookies hadn't been a good idea, if he ever wanted to get some sleep tonight. Finally, they were asleep though and he could get some shut eye himself. He had volunteered to watch them, babysitting tonight while String and Caitlin went out so they could have the evening to themselves. Things were mending between the two of them, but it would take time and he had every intention of seeing they got it. He had decided to get everyone else together here for movies, pizza, and a bunch of junk food, and he, for one, had enjoyed it; and it looked like everyone else had too, but it had definitely been a long day. Joshua had collapsed into a beanbag long ago, with Ellie on the sofa, and Rivers had passed out in the recliner, hopefully due to being tired and not having something to do with the beer cans on the coffee table. Time to get a little sleep himself and deal with this mess later.

\A/

**The Next Morning**

String sipped his coffee slowly, still trying to wake up. It was late morning, especially for him, to just be getting up, but it had been a very late night last night, most enjoyable, but exhausting after a full day's work. Caitlin still wasn't up yet, but he would let her sleep as long as she wanted, or at least as long as she could. Saint John would probably be coming by soon to drop off Chance and that was likely to add some noise to the quiet morning.

Shoving up to his feet, he picked up his coffee mug and went back inside. He soon found Cait in the kitchen making breakfast and obviously less tired than he was, even after two cups of coffee.

Caitlin handed him a warm, buttery croissant. "I need to finish getting ready really quick, so we can head up to the hangar.

The hangar hadn't even crossed his mind for some reason. Dom had known about the outing and he suspected they might be a little late, but work was still work and they were still supposed to be there.

Before long, the two of them were in the Jet Ranger and heading up to Santini Air.

Dom had babysitting duty while Saint John was on the phone arranging last minute details for the stunt String would be flying in the morning.

"Ah, you did decide to grace us with your presence," Dom teased, "only, I think one of you is still asleep."

"Then maybe I'll go find that cot and actually get to go lay down while I sleep."

"Grouchy, grouchy. I think somebody stayed up too late after their bedtime last night."

Rubbing his forehead, and the headache that taunted there, String sent him any icy warning glare. "Not now, Dom."

\A/

Outside, the dark sky forecasted storms for the next day, and not even mild ones, but hopefully since the stunt was so outrageously early, the storm could be mostly avoided.

Inside the hangar, on a cot in the office, String slept fitfully, not exactly a nightmare, but far from peaceful either. Rolling back and forth on the little room allowed by the cot, he searched for a comfortable position. Rolling too far, he fell off the cot and onto the floor. String sat up, rubbing his head that he'd hit in the corner of the desk. Something was wrong; he could sense it even in his sleep. The question was - what?

He stood up and investigated the area, but nothing looked out of place or suspicious. It probably wasn't anything; but his gut feeling insistently told him something **was** wrong. He laid back down, determined to push this unreasonable worry away, but it refused to be ignored.

Struggling to ignore it anyway, he finally fell asleep again.

Only a few minutes later sleep evaded him again. Rising, he paced restlessly, trying to rid himself of the nagging fear and worry that had returned. At last he could handle it no longer and radioed back to the cabin.

No answer.

"Santini Air to cabin, do you read?"

Still nothing.

He waited, thinking it might take Caitlin a minute to get to the radio, but when he tried again he still received no answer. It was probably nothing he told himself over and over again, but what if it wasn't?

There was only one way to solve this and put all doubt out of his mind, Hawke decided, and he wouldn't be getting any sleep until he did so. Moments later, the red, white and blue Santini Air hjet ranger was on its way back up to the cabin.

\A/

String tried to radio the cabin again on the way there, still receiving no answer though. By the time he sent another unanswered call he had thoroughly convinced himself something was wrong.

"This isn't Airwolf and even then you couldn't go in guns ablazing," he told himself, but he had to admit it would have made things a lot easier.

He landed the helicopter off aways and started his brisk hike toward the cabin, gun drawn and ready for any attack. Reaching it, still nothing appeared obviously wrong, yet that sixth sense was now yelling in his ear. About to slip in the front door, he caught sight of something in the shadows only to hear a scream inside. Abandoning the hunt, for his wife's scream, he went in.

"You ok?" he demanded, his eyes worried as he rushed in.

"I'm fine," Caitlin answered , regaining her lost composure, "but some of your paintings are about to not be."

Now having confirmed his family's safely, Hawke went back outside to see if he could catch the attempting thief, but raced out in time only hear a helicopter disappearing in the distance.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

String stood by the computer hardware, leaning against it with the nonchalance only he could pull off so well, waiting for Michael to return from some unexpected meeting. Lauren had brought him some coffee that he hadn't even touched. Right now he didn't need anything else to make him jittery. Reality and realization of the break in at the cabin two days ago was only now truly setting in. It could have turned out a lot worse, for his collection and his family, but he had to admit thankfully it hadn't. There was the vague possibility of the thief coming back, but it wasn't likely - especially not this soon after the initial attempt, but the possibility was still there and that was what bothered him. What was there that he could do about it though?

"Sorry for the delay," Michael apologized, "there was an unplanned meeting about the painting theft in Zurich three months ago and the one in Williamstown."

Hawke raised an inquisitive eyebrow. He'd heard of them both but not given either of them much thought until now. Neither thief had been caught, and there was some supposition it could be the same person…

"I might have seen him, or at least a cohort in crime."

Archangel looked up suddenly, caught totally unaware by the statement.

"Had a visitor at the cabin two days ago," Hawke explained.

"He didn't…"

"No, he didn't get anything. But he did get away before I had a chance to do anything about it," he added sourly.

"How'd he get away this time?"

"About the only way there is - by helicopter."

"Damn," the spy muttered. "If it is the same person, then we have a very talented thief on our hands."

"You got that right, but if he comes back up to the cabin, you're going to have a very dead thief."

\A/

"String, you yourself said you didn't want to be involved in this kind of thing anymore."

"I said I _couldn't_ be for the sake of the family, but this is different."

"You can make up excuses for everything about how it's different or this'll definitely be the last one, but that doesn't change the situation."

"The excuse isn't the changing factor; it changed when it became personal."

String left the hangar, climbed into the jeep and slammed the gear into reverse. He had things to get done before this evening, and he wasn't about to leave anybody alone at the cabin tonight.

\A/

"What're you doing?" Caitlin queried of her husband who was unsuccessfully trying to get some rest in the Santini Air office.

"Sleeping," he answered.

"If you're that tired why don't you go back to the cabin, or at least get the cot."

He shook his head even if he got up from the chair. "I'm fine, not even actually tired yet, but I don't expect to be getting much sleep tonight."

"Why? Is something going on that I'm not aware of?"

"Don't know yet. But I want to be on the look out in case we get another visit from that art 'collector.'"

"What makes you think he would come back tonight?"

"Because tonight will be three days since the first attempt, and I think our friend like threes an awful lot. Three months ago at three pm, the E.G. Burhle Collection in Zurich Switzerland was robbed, then three weeks ago, the Clark Art Institute in Williamstown, Massachusetts, three paintings were stolen at three in the morning. Three days ago, there was an attempted burglary at the cabin, but with the perfectionist this guy seems to be, I'll bet he's coming back; what better time than three days later at three in the morning?"

Cait raised an eyebrow at him. It sounded crazy, and yet...with Hawke perfectly plausible. "Sounds like you've got everything all figured out; what do you want me to do?"

"You really want me to tell you?"

"Yes, I do," Caitlin replied seriously.

"Play it out like any other night and let me sleep for now."

"Fine, be that way." She caught the faint smile he gave her. "But remember, be careful and if you need me for anything I'll be there."

\A/

It was totally silent other than the soft crackling coming from the fireplace, but somehow it wasn't right, almost too quiet. Caitlin remembered what String had said about the art thief coming back, but three days would be pretty daring; tonight wouldn't be ideal anyway, but she couldn't totally dismiss the idea either. What could it hurt to check on him and make sure everything was alright? she decided as she silently slipped out of the bed and started down the wood stairs.

As her bare feet came into contact with the rough wood of the living room floor, she looked around the room in search of her husband. "String?" She didn't see him. Panic threatened to take over, but quickly subsided as caught sight of him dozing peacefully by the window. If the thief had been going to come back tonight he probably already would have, she thought as she climbed the stairs back up to the loft and went back to bed.

\A/

Slowly at first, consciousness came back to him, but his sense were already acutely tuned in to the intruder mere feet in front of him. Carefully, String slipped his hand under a pillow and pulled out the Colt .45 he had temporarily hidden there, gripping it firmly and clicking off the safety in case it was needed.

One thing was for sure - this intruder wasn't going to be leaving with anything less than a prison sentence if he had any say in the matter, maybe more.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Slip out the back before anyone knows you were here, the thief thought, fighting the impulse to at least attempt grabbing one of those beautiful paintings, and there were so many to choose from - Renoir, Van Gogh, Gauguin, and others. How did one acquire such priceless art? Did it really matter? They were here for the taking and surely on individual smart enough to get past the security at the museum back in Massachusetts could take a couple paintings from a cabin. By the time the cops got out here there wouldn't be anything to chase, gone and disappeared again.

A stealthy shadow sulked in a dark corner like a cat ready to pounce. If there was any chance of getting out of here without much problem now was the time to do it, sadly, that would mean leaving empty handed. Carefully, but quickly picking through the dark room, the thief made it out the back door, with Hawke right behind.

String was familiar with these trails, but absolute darkness made them much more challenging to navigate. Still, the advantage was on his side and he was rapidly catching up.

Launching himself at the intruder, he brought the other down in a full-bodied tackle. He received a hearty shove and kick to his shin for the effort, but not without landing a punch or two of his own. Obviously irritated at the unexpected attack, the burglar lashed out at him again, this time hard in the stomach with a heeled boot. Hawke was able to pin the prowler though, alternating between muttering curses and threats until he heard the satisfying crunch of bone snapping. With no more than a soft whimper of pain, the fugitive wrapped two back pant covered legs around his neck, cutting off his air supply. Whoever the hell this was, was no wimp, trying pretty damn hard to kick his butt, and if he didn't act now, they'd succeed. Hawke clawed viciously at his assailant, succeeding in ripping off his dark mask, or in this case, her dark mask. Long, golden blond hair fell from its previously neat coil, whipped around by the wind.

"Surprised?" she half-snarled, half-laughed. "You, surprisingly enough, have come closer than anyone else, but you **will not** be the cause of my downfall." Then, with another powerful shove, he started tumbling down the embankment.

Landing hard on the rough ground about ten feet below, String was starting to feel the brunt of their fight. Looks were more than slightly deceiving, and that kid had a lot more brains and brawn than expected, but he wasn't about to give up now. Blood ran from….somewhere, but he couldn't really be sure exactly where. Dirt, grass, and blood from both of them seemed to be everywhere, and he was sure he would be feeling those bruises later because he was already starting to now, but it wasn't like she was totally unharmed either. He'd hit her pretty good a few times and at the very least she had a broken arm.

A helicopter was leaving off in the distance, Hughes 500 by the sounds of it, so he started making his way back up the embankment and towards the Jet Ranger awaiting him on the dock.

His sore limbs ached, but he ignored it, replacing the pain with solid determination. He was on his own here; there was no time to get Cait and he didn't really want her involved in this one anyway.

By the time he got the Santini Air helicopter up, the other one had a good distance on him already and wasn't planning on slowing down to let him catch up.

Hawke sent the Jet Ranger at full speed after the fleeing Hughes, wishing the whole time that he had Airwolf. With the Lady, catching up wouldn't be a problem, but he had said he wasn't messing with that anymore; Airwolf was a memory and a part of the past, but no longer part of his life.

The thief kept due east, leaving him farther and farther behind, but he wasn't having any luck radioing for help.

Suddenly the radio crackled to life and Dom's voice sounded. "String, where're you going with my chopper?"

"Chasin' thieves," he answered, "but I'd like some help."

"Where you at?"

"Heading east, about twenty minutes out of Van Nuys and a little north. If we keep this way, I'd make the Lair in about twenty five minutes, but she's starting to change course and I don't think I can pick up the Lady without loosing her."

"I'll be there," Dominic promised.

Now at least there was a chance, providing he didn't run out of fuel first. There had been plenty for the run to and from the cabin, but they'd been flying in circles for a while and it would still take time for Dom to show up.

\A/

Where was it? The Hughes had been there just a minute ago, so where was it now?

"Hawke," the voice on the radio addressed, "watch out."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the missile coming from another aircraft. Evidently she had friends in the area too. The missile missed him narrowly, but Hawke doubted he would be so lucky again. He flew toward the nearby ridge, low and behind the trees hoping to possibly avoid detection; it was mostly wishful thinking, but the Jet Ranger was definitely no attack helicopter.

It was too late for wishful thinking; the next missile came speeding toward him at increasingly terrifying speeds. He didn't need Airwolf's expensive computers to tell him it was a heat seeker and that it was locked onto him and there wasn't a thing in the world he could do about it. String silently offered up his regrets, thinking how ironic it was that even after giving up Airwolf missions he was going to be killed by a missile imploding with his chopper. He could already imagine it colliding into the Jet Ranger's aluminum alloy sides, exploding upon impact and the empty shell of the Santini Air helicopter falling lifelessly back to the earth.

Maybe Dom would see it, that was something he'd rather spare Dom the pain of seeing it; he wouldn't be happy about the loss of the chopper, but he'd be devastated over String's death. Poor Dom had had enough worry about him and Saint John over the years - as kids, in Vietnam, the missions, but both had lived, made it through countless circumstances against the odds, but this ironically was going to be the end. At least he wouldn't physically hurt anyone else, there was that much to be thankful for.

String looked back and silently figured it would only be about five seconds until he met his final fate - the death so many had attempted - he would finally get.

"Four….three…." he counted aloud his own death sentence, "two…"

A banshee shriek and a flash of phantom grey streaked by, decoying the missile and sending it after it, instead of the Jet Ranger, a sunburst making short work of the Agile. The chain guns chattered incessantly against the metallic body of the plane that had attempted, and very nearly succeeded in taking String's life. The starboard engine finally caught fire, quickly spreading and with the help of a Copperhead took out the plane for good. Smoke and flames engulfed the entire aircraft as it dropped out of the sky and crashed into the sandy desert soil below.

"You ok, String?" Dominic asked concern.

String let out a long, shoulder raising, relieved sigh before replying. "I think I'll live."

That was good. He had seen the first missile's impact and been all too afraid that would be String.

"I'm glad you didn't take any longer though. I had about decided this was finally it."

"What were you doing out there anyway?" Dominic asked after they had both returned to the hangar. The burst of energy and adrenalin wouldn't have let either of them sleep even if there had been time. An hour or so before they were due to show up for daily work didn't give them time to make it worthwhile.

"The cabin got broken into three days ago."

"And you didn't tell the police?" Dom yelled. "You didn't even tell me!"

"Didn't really matter, wouldn't have changed anything," he answered. "He, well actually she, didn't get away with anything and I wasn't planning on a follow up visit.

After visiting Michael though, I got the feeling we could be dealing with a more complicated criminal."

"So, you thought you'd chase her down in my Jet Ranger?" Dom asked incredulously. "Nice as she is, String, she ain't no attack chopper and she's definitely not the Lady."

"It was never supposed to leave the ground, but she -" He looked away momentarily. Something so seemingly easy, should have been handled from the beginning, and he didn't really want to broadcast his failure to the entire world. "She caught me off guard, and I just went after her, didn't think about it," he finished as he went back to cleaning up from the earlier fight.

"Aren't you supposed to look better after you clean up?" Saint John teased as he joined them in the hangar, totally unaware of the recent close call.

Raising his head, String looked into the mirror above the sink and seeing that under all the blood, livid purple bruises were starting to stand out. He grinned self depreciatively in spite of himself. He didn't look too great and he'd have a lot of explaining to Cait to do.

"What happened anyway? I didn't even know you were going out last night."

"Let's just say it was an impulsive decision. Next time I'll take you with me for backup, then even if it doesn't go well, I won't be the only one looking like this." But as the shock wore off and his healthy tanned color returned, the bruises already seemed to be fading.

"Where is Caitlin?" Saint John asked.

"Still back at the cabin."

"She alright?"

"Yeah, I just haven't gotten back yet since the outing last night."

"I'll go get her," Saint John offered, sensing he had interrupted an important conversation with his entry and giving them a chance to finish it.

"Thanks."

Saint John walking out, String returned back to his discussion with Dom, thanking him gratefully for the rescue.

"No problem," the older man replied. "But if you _have_ to go out and get chased by missiles, at least take the Lady; you'd at least have a better chance of returning."

"Yeah, Dom," he replied with a half smile, "I'll keep that in mind."

A sudden thought occured to him.

"Dom."

"Yeah?"

"You did shoot down a helicopter too, didn't you?"

"What helicopter? The plane and you were the only things I saw."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"No," Dom replied looking at him strangely. "There was just you and the plane on the scanners."

"Great," String sighed. "Wonder what the next multiple of three is?"


End file.
